


Roses For John

by Prongs_Smitch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre Season 3, Sherlock comes back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7431154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prongs_Smitch/pseuds/Prongs_Smitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For everyday John thinks Sherlock is dead, a rose awaits him on his doorstep. Who is the mystery deliverer? And what happens when suddenly the roses stop arriving? Johnlock oneshot, lots of fluff!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses For John

**Author's Note:**

> This is re-uploaded from my account (Prongs Smitch) on fanfiction.net. Sorry for any mistakes - the file hasn't been edited since I originally wrote it a few years ago. I hope you enjoy this one-shot :)

John hadn't eaten, hadn't slept, hadn't moved since it happened.

John stared at the ceiling, he was sat in his chair, thinking everything over. Sherlock had to have left a clue, there must be a hidden hint somewhere, if he could just find it. Sherlock was not a fake. Sherlock could not be... Could not be...be...

"Dead." he croaked. It was the first word he'd said since the fall. He was sure it would be the only word he speak for weeks to come. Why would he feel like talking when the one person who'd saved him from himself, when he'd been sure no-one could, was ... Dead. Why would he feel like doing anything?

John lay in bed, having hardly slept a wink, what little sleep he'd had, had been plagued with nightmares of him. He had no intention of getting up anytime soon. He had a good mind to never get up again actually.

"John, dear?" Mrs. Hudson called through the door. "I have something for you".

John groaned. What on earth did someone want to send him? He just wanted to be left alone for gods sake.

The door creaked open as creeped in, clutching a rose to her chest.

"This was on the door step for you." she said, holding it out to him. "Theres a note attached too." She added.

John turned over the note which read :

John,

Go get your morning tea, we all know how you get.

At that, John couldn't help but smile.

"Love note dear?" asked Mrs. Hudson, John had forgotten she was in the room.

"Hardly." he answered.

John started receiving a rose every morning. Without fail, each morning a beautiful red rose would be on the door step and every day with a new note: "Don't forget to check the fridge door is closed, I know how you forget.", "Don't forget to buy extra tea for when you want to remake it", " Mrs. Hudson is not the house keeper, how about making your own bed today?". Trivial things, that only someone close to John would know, that never failed to make John smile.

In fact, these flowers began to be the reason John would get up in the morning, in the hope of seeing this mystery deliverer. Slowly but surely, John started to rely on the roses. They were the highlight of his day, not that he'd admit that to anyone. They bought a smile to his face, the only thing that could these days.

The flowers appeared every day for three months after the fall. That is, until today. John had opened the door, looked down and ...nothing. The doorstep was empty.

"Dear, if you're wondering about another one of those roses, there hasn't been one yet today." Mrs. Hudson said as she walked past.

"I..t-they must be late. Yes, they're just running late." John stuttered. How could they just stop sending them?

"I'm sure they are dear" she said. "And stop leaving your shoes in the hallway! I'm not your house keeper!"

John waited and waited, until it was past half eleven in the evening. Clearly, he would not be getting a rose today. He sighed and rose out of the armchair, making his way to bed. He couldn't wait for this day to be over. Maybe he'd wake up and this whole thing would just be a horrible, horrible nightmare.

And that was how it continued for the next seven days, every day John would look for a rose, and every day no flower would be there, not even a single petal. Everyday he would wait until half eleven, and everyday he would go to bed disappointed, ready for yet another day to finally be over.

On the eighth day, John had given up. Given into the idea that he'd need to find another reason to get up in the morning, another replacement for him.

John was suddenly bought out of his thoughts by a knock on the door.

"Could you get that dear?" called.

John walked to the door, wondering who it could be. No-one called in on them these days, he refused to talk to most people, so why would anyone bother?

He opened the door and there stood a man, wearing a long billowing coat, a blue scarf tied in a knot round his neck and John knew that behind the bouquet of roses he was holding in front of his face, would be the most astounding cheekbones. John gasped, it couldn't be, he was dead, it couldn't be..be...be

"Sherlock" he breathed.

Sherlock lowered the flowers, and held them out to John, who gratefully took them.

"Hello, John." Sherlock replied in his deep rumbling voice. Oh how he'd missed that voice.

"Wha-wh-how-"

John was cut off when he was pulled into Sherlocks chest, his strong arms circling. John buried his face into Sherlocks shoulder, and sure, maybe a view silent tears slipped out but, c'mon, best-friend back from the dead here! John inhaled deeply, smelling the scent that had been missing from his life for months. A scent that was pure... Sherlock.

Sherlock chuckled softly, "I missed you too John, I missed you too."

"You're bloody fantastic, do you know that? You're also a pratt, you know that too?"

"You've made me aware John, many times."

"Good."

And that was how Mrs. Hudson found them, embraced on the doorstep. After that, life in baker street finally went back to normal, albeit, with a few changes. Mrs. Hudson no longer had to change two sets of sheets (which she did out of the kindness of her heart, she was not their house keeper.) as only one was in use now, the two men could often be found snuggling on the sofa, and sometimes she'd hear them having late night talks.

Mrs. Hudson smirked to herself as she lifted the teacup to her lips. Yes, finally everything was as it was meant to be.


End file.
